I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 234: A family

The hallway outside Elysia’s chambers was quiet, bathed in the muted light of evening. The sconces on the stone walls flickered with steady flame, casting elongated shadows across the crimson carpet.

Malvoria stood with her arms crossed, leaning against the cool stone, one foot tapping slowly, a rare expression of uncertainty etched across her face.

She had been standing there for quite a while— twenty-two minutes, to be exact but who was counting?

She glanced at the heavy door once more, her tail twitching impatiently behind her. Inside, her wife and her daughter rested.

Her daughter. The word still tasted strange on her tongue. Not unpleasant—just... monumental.

And, of course, Thalor was still in there.

Malvoria clenched her jaw, not because she disliked the man though she certainly didn’t adore him but because he was still in there.

Talking. Being tender. Perhaps crying. Who knew what human fathers did in such moments? It wasn’t that she wanted to interrupt.

No, she respected Elysia’s need for closure and warmth from her father. But it didn’t stop the fierce itch of impatience crawling beneath her skin.

She had expected Thalor to stay a few minutes, maybe hold Kaelith, offer some stilted congratulations, and leave. Not... settle in. Gods, was he chatting in there?

Malvoria sighed and began pacing.

She walked from one side of the corridor to the other, counting each stride as if doing so would somehow speed up time.

A maid passed by, giving her a small smile and a gentle bow. Malvoria nodded stiffly in return, unsure if her expression was more queenly or exasperated.

She tried to distract herself. She checked her gloves. Adjusted the edge of her cloak.

Thought about war maps, rebel activity, diplomatic banquets—anything to keep her mind from racing too fast toward the image she couldn’t stop seeing in her head: Elysia cradling their daughter. Her family.

Her chest ached in the strangest way, as if her ribcage had expanded too fast and couldn’t quite settle back into place.

When the door finally creaked open, Malvoria froze mid-step.

Thalor stepped out with a quiet grace that surprised her, his expression more composed than she expected. There was a gentleness in his eyes, something softened by time and perhaps humility.

"She’s doing well," he said simply, his voice tired but sincere. "Both of them."

Malvoria inclined her head. "I would hope so."

There was a beat of silence between them—heavy, but not uncomfortable.

"I misjudged you," Thalor said, his gaze steady. "You’ve... done right by her. Even if I still don’t trust you fully, I can’t deny what I saw just now."

Malvoria arched a brow. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"It’s the closest you’ll get," he replied, then, with the faintest smile, added, "Congratulations, Malvoria. She’s... beautiful. Fierce already, I can feel it."

Then he turned and walked down the corridor, the hem of his cloak whispering against the floor. Malvoria watched him go until he disappeared around the bend.

She waited another heartbeat.

Two.

Then quietly pushed open the door.

The room was dim, lit only by the low flicker of the enchanted hearth. The curtains had been drawn slightly open, letting in a wash of silvery moonlight.

And there, in the center of the large bed, lay the two people who now made up her entire world.

Elysia’s silver hair was spread across the pillows, her face relaxed in sleep. Her body curled protectively around the small bundle in her arms, Kaelith.

The infant lay nestled against her chest, fast asleep, tiny horns barely peeking through a mop of snowy hair streaked with soft crimson.

A faint shimmer of purple flame lingered in the air around them, gentle now.

Malvoria stood in the doorway and forgot how to breathe.

For the first time since the labor began, she allowed herself to truly see them—her wife and daughter. Alive. Safe. Unbroken.

She stepped inside slowly, afraid that the creak of her boots against the stone might shatter the delicate peace in the room.

But neither of them stirred. Kaelith let out a small sigh, one hand twitching in a dream, and Elysia instinctively adjusted, pulling her closer, her lips brushing the baby’s soft crown.

Malvoria felt her heart twist.

This was the most terrifying and beautiful thing she had ever seen.

She hesitated by the edge of the bed. Should she wake Elysia? Say something? Touch Kaelith? Gods, her hands were trembling. What was she supposed to do now—just be a mother?

She sat slowly on the edge of the mattress, her eyes never leaving the sleeping child. Kaelith’s face was so small. Her lashes dark and long. Her cheeks flushed with warmth. She looked... peaceful. Innocent. Whole.

And something inside Malvoria cracked open.

A slow, uncontainable smile tugged at her lips as she reached out, letting her fingers brush the edge of the blanket wrapped around the baby. She didn’t even realize she was crying until a warm drop hit her glove.

Kaelith stirred slightly, one tiny hand reaching into the air, as if sensing her presence.

Malvoria took that hand gently, her voice a bare whisper. "You have no idea how long I’ve waited to meet you."

Her throat tightened.

"And how much I’ll burn for you if I have to."

She looked to Elysia next, her heart tightening further. How had she gotten so lucky? This radiant, stubborn, extraordinary woman who had every reason to run from her and had instead built a home beside her.

"You’re both the bravest people I’ve ever known," she whispered.

The room was silent, but it didn’t feel empty. It felt full of promise, of peace, of new beginnings.

She leaned back against the pillows and, after a moment’s hesitation, carefully lay beside them, inching closer until she could feel the heat of Elysia’s skin against hers.

One arm gently wrapped around them both, careful not to disturb the baby. Her daughter.

Their daughter.

Kaelith.

Malvoria let her head rest on the pillow, her eyes fixed on the curve of her child’s cheek.

She would protect this.

She would build a world worthy of her.

No matter what it took.

And for now, just for now she would let herself rest in this sliver of perfect stillness.

Because tomorrow, there would be wars to end.

But tonight, she had a family.